


The Fate of a Queen

by Mischieff



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-13
Updated: 2013-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 18:42:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28658160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mischieff/pseuds/Mischieff
Summary: The possible fate of Anora if Alistair is made King of Ferelden





	The Fate of a Queen

Anora looked out over the city of Denerim. From her vantage point in the tower, she could see the city as few ever had. The ebb and flow of the people, the cycles of day and night, of work and commerce, of rest and leisure. It was like the tides, rising and falling as the waves against the shore. They created a rhythm all its own. Living as she had, sheltered in the castle, she had never known the city as she did now. 

The schedule of the bread maker was of particular interest for no other reason than the smell of baking bread carried by the wind to her window each morning. She craved a fresh-baked sweet roll more than anything else in the Maker's world. She had requested one many times, pleaded and nearly begged, but one had not appeared. It was a cruel joke that some time ago, although it seemed nearly a lifetime now, any request she made was fulfilled without hesitation regardless of expense or difficulty. Now no one will get her a sweet roll from a common baker. 

She paced the floor, looking out the window each time she passed it, then made herself stop. It was unbecoming and unworthy of a queen, and that was what she was. She had bribed an elven servant to deliver messages for her. Now at dusk at the changing of the guard was when he could deliver any replies. She hoped he was trustworthy but had little choice. She had not seen her handmaiden since the Landsmeet, that was no doubt by design for this very reason. She worried about her but did not truly fear. He didn’t have the... stomach to execute anyone. 

For why else would she still be here, trapped in this tower, weeks after the Blight had been defeated. If she had won the Landsmeet, as she should have, she would have had him exiled or executed that day. He had claimed that he wouldn‘t execute her in case he was killed fighting the Blight. Her being named his successor would prevent a war for the succession or the fracturing of Ferelden into warring banns and in either case, the country would most likely have been again overtaken by the Orleasian Empire. Such an act showed wisdom but the Blight had been over for weeks and the fact that she was still alive proved to her at least that he simply lacked the strength to govern. 

She had prayed for the good of all Ferelden that he would die in the battle with the Archdemon. It seemed a perfect solution. He would die a hero and she would be queen. But it seems the Maker does not answer such prayers on principle even if for the best. Those hours that the battle had raged had been horrible. She had watched the destruction, listened to the sounds of battle, heard the screams, and waited. It occurred to her that Calain had been right about one thing. The Blight had been defeated in one great battle the bards will no doubt sing of for centuries. It was just that Cailan had not been the one to defeat it. 

Her prison was comprised of two small rooms. One a bedroom with a bed washstand and dresser while the other contained a small fireplace and had been set up as a sitting room with a couple chairs, a small table, writing desk, and bookshelf. They were quite comfortable and not that different than the guest rooms in the castle except for the lock on the outside of the door. 

She walked to the small fireplace. The fire was burning but it couldn’t banish the chill from the room. The snows were coming. The last of the daylight seeped out of the sky. She went back to the window. The night guards were approaching the station They would talk for several minutes to the guards that had worked the day shift, about the goings-on at the castle, rebuilding of Denerium, palace gossip, opinion of the captain of the guard, opinion of serves at the tavern and the employees at the Pearl. She had instructed the servant that if there were any messages for her to come now. She could then lower a make-shift rope he had fashioned from an old dress and he could tie the messages to it. She watched the shadows for any sign of him. The guards finished up their conversation, the day guards left as the night guards started their patrol. No messages. 

They could not have forgotten about her so quickly. She, not Cailan, had ruled Ferelden and rules it well for five years. Did she have no friends, no allies, no... one? Her disappointment was bitter. She had sent out letters to all her allies to garner support. She could not just take back her throne, not yet anyway, but soon they would see that they had made a terrible mistake. They would see that Alistair was no king and could not rule, at least not rule alone. They would see that they needed her, Ferelden needed her. They had been scared, panicked. The situation with the Blight and the civil war had been desperate. But now with the threat over, all could think with rational minds. All she had to do was wait for his failings as a king to become evident. 

She heard the lock on the door rattle and the guard stepped in and said awkwardly for he was not in the habit of announcing visitors, “His Highness, King Alistair Therein.” He then stiffly stood aside and as Alistair stepped into the room. The guard bowed and then went back through the door, shutting and locking it behind him. 

“Hello, Anora.” He looked different. He was dressed better, in attire more fitting royalty, but it was something else. He looked older, perhaps but no...not really. He reminded her of... well Cailan, of course, must be. Odd, how she had nearly forgotten how Cailan was, his manner, ways, voice. Alistair seemed much like him, like... but now was not the time for musings. She had thought about what she would do in this moment if it ever came. She was used to getting what she wanted from Cailan and she had little doubt that Alistair would be any different. She must simply play this game better than he, and that she knew how to do. Politics was her weapon as much as any warrior's sword or shield. He was of royal blood but raised a commoner. She was a lady, a noble with training and education. She had ruled the country. She was a queen, now she had to prove it. 

“To what do I owe the honor?: She said. “I would think that the king of Ferelden would have better things to do than check up on prisoners.” 

“I do, but I decided to make an exception in this case.” He said and sat down on one of the chairs surrounding the small table. 

“You forget your manners. I have not asked you to be seated.” She said. 

Alistair smiled an easy smile. “You forget your place or haven’t you heard? I am King of Ferelden now. Had a coronation and everything. That means that this is my tower, my fort, my city, my kingdom, and you are my... guest here. So please be seated.” 

She tried not to glare but could think of no proper response and seeing little alternative, sat down. 

“I am sorry that I haven't been by sooner but in truth, I forgot about you in all the excitement with the end of the blight and all.” He said. 

“That would be understandable. I know about running a country, for you it must all be so new and overwhelming.” She said. 

“Not as much as you might think. After defeating an Archdemon dealing with a bunch of self-serving nobles just isn’t that big of a deal.” He said. “Now, we can trade formalities for a while longer or I can get to the point. I have a... oh let’s call it, a proposition.” 

“I see that you have finally realized that you can't hold this country together. You are not a king, not a ruler. I understand you had to do what you did at the Landsmeet, to save the country from the civil war and the Blight but I am not the only one who sees it.” She said. 

“Indeed.” He said. 

“As soon as the country is safe, they will turn on you, and then what will happen?” She asked. “Ferelden will break apart. Is that really what you want? I can hold it together, and you know this as well as anyone. But you will doom this country, this country we both love.” 

“I see.” He said. 

“It is not too late to abdicate, of course. Perhaps a bit awkward but it will soon be forgotten.” She said. “Or would you have me rule with you.” 

Alistair eyes got wide for just a moment. “You rule while I play king. Hmmm... is that the deal you had with Cailan?” 

“Not in so many words,” she said. “but it worked.” 

“You would be willing to do... that?” He said. 

“I am queen and will do whatever I must for Ferelden.” She said. 

“You mean for yourself.” He said. 

“You do not even want to be king.” She said. 

“No, I never wanted it but now... now I do.” He said. “And I don't intend to give it up so easily.” 

“You want a throne you took, stole from me!” She said. 

“I did not steal this throne!” She said. 

“No, your father did... from you!” He said. “And you let him. He killed the son of his best friend, allowed an army to die to cover it up and you stood by as he set this country on a path straight into the teeth of the Blight without so much as a whisper of protest!” 

“He was my father!” She said. 

“He was going to destroy this country, allow it to be overrun by the Blight, and torn apart by civil war!” He said rising to his feet. “He tried to seize power from the banns, destroy the government and sovereignty that makes this Ferelden and still you stood by him, even when he had you imprisoned. Why? Because you knew that it was the only way you would ever become queen again. You didn't care about the people of this country or what anyone would suffer or if there would even be a country left as long as you ruled it! You didn’t lift one finger against him. Yes, he was your father and you loved him or loved yourself more than Ferelden! You do not deserve to be queen.” 

“And you do?” She said. 

“I defeated the Blight and stopped a civil war.” He said. 

“No, you didn't! The Warden did!” She said. 

“Well, I helped.” He said sitting back down. “At least I did more than you did. And then there are these.” He pulled out a stack of papers from his cloak and tossed them onto the table. She could see they were her letters. “Courtesy of my new head of security.” He waited, letting the implications of the papers sing in. Then he pulled out another paper, thicker, official with a royal signature and seal and placed it on top of the letters. An order of execution. “Didn't think I had the... stomach to have you executed.” 

She began to cry. 

“Now you're just insulting my intelligence.” She stopped and went to the window. The air was cold. 

“When?” She said. 

“Tomorrow, at dawn.” He said. She nodded and then turned to face him. 

“You said you had a proposition. But the order is already signed. Were you just toying with me? I wouldn't have expected such cruelty from you.” She said. 

“I do have a proposition that benefits us both.” He took a small vial from his pocket and placed it on top of the order. “This country does owe you, Anora, that is why I came personally and why I'm giving you this. It is quick and painless. It does no one any good for you to die by the ax in a public spectacle.” 

“If there had been no letters if I had been repentant and sworn loyalty in trade for my life, would you have let me live?” She said. 

“I would have con... No.” He said, surprised by the words. “I can't believe I'm saying that. How much... things... have changed. But, no, I can't let you live. I'm sorry but you no doubt understand.” 

“I do.” He stepped to the door and knocked on it. The door opened. 

“This is a kindness, Anora. Do not make me regret it.” He said. 

“Ali... your highness.” He stopped. “May I call you Alistair? We are a sort of family, after all.” She said. 

“Yes, you may.” He said. 

“Alistair, you have shown me a kindness and I do not like to leave my debts unpaid. So I give you this: 

Before Maric left on that last trip, he told Cailan about you. Cailan was furious with him.” 

“No doubt for cheating on his mother.” He said. 

“No, he was angry that he had a brother and that information had been withheld from him. When Maric disappeared Cailan wanted to bring you to court despite the risks but you were already being trained as a templar and he knew he could not risk angering the Grand Cleric. He was going to wait till you took your vows and then request you be assigned to his personal guard to protect him from blood magic. But then you were recruited into the Grey Wardens. He couldn’t understand why the Maker seemed determined to keep you two apart.” She said. “When you came into the room just now, I thought that you reminded me of Cailan but in truth, you remind me of... of Maric. I know that you cannot think well of him but in truth, he was a good man and a good king.” 

“Thank you, Anora.” He turned to go and then stopped. “Oh, I almost forgot.” He pulled out a small package. He unwrapped it to reveal a sweet roll and placed it on the table. “They are very good. The best in the city they tell me.” 

“Thank you.” She said. 

“Goodbye, Anora.” He stepped through the door. It was shut and locked behind him. 

She looked at the roll and then went back to the window. She looked long at the rising moon. One last night. The air was cold, so bitterly cold. It could easily snow tonight. She closed the window and walked back to the fire. She looked around the room, stared into each shadow, listened but heard only her own breathing and the crackle of the fire. There was nothing there. 

“You may as well come out and have a seat. I do not plan on doing anything for a while yet and I would like the company.” She looked back over the room. There was a being standing in the corner. It was dark with a hood pulled low over what she hoped was a face. The being stepped forward and pulled back the hood to reveal a handsome elf, blond with a tattoo on his face. 

“Ah, you must forgive me. I did not mean to disturb you. I must be getting rusty to be spotted so easily.” He said with a charming Anvitan accent. 

“No, rest assured your skills are impressive.” She said. “I figured that Ali... the king would not leave my death to my courage or its lack. For as he says no one, and that includes him, benefit from my execution.” 

“Then I must chastise myself for being lured out of hiding, tricked as it were, so easily.” He indicated the chair closest to him. “May I?” 

“Please.” She said. “May I get you some wine?” 

“I hope you will not take offense if I refuse, given that you have been given very deadly poison.” She picked up the bottle. The glass was nearly black and full. “However, you are correct in that I am here to make sure you do not live for your execution.” 

“Is this a professional contract or a personal favor?” She asked. 

“Both in fact.” He said. 

“I could pay you to let me live, perhaps even to free me.” She said. “I have coin, a lot of it in fact.” 

“That you will no doubt give to me once you have escaped.” He said. “Alas, no, my dear lady. Some things cannot be bought.” 

“And your loyalty is one of those things?” She said. 

“Oh, no. That can be bought, quite cheaply I am nearly ashamed to admit,” he said. “but friendship, a place I am welcome, those are luxuries one simply cannot buy and ones I am not used to nor willing to part with for something as easy to gain as coin.” 

She picked up the roll from the small table and smelled it. Fresh and still just slightly warm. “I have wanted one of these for so long, that I hesitate to eat it for fear that there is no way it could come close to what I imagine.” 

“It will not go to waste if you do not eat it.” He said. She smiled. 

“He is a kind man.” She said. 

“Indeed, he has a kind heart, but it has been tempered by recent trials and the experience of the last years. Iron is not so impressive yet it makes steel. He may be the same.” He said. 

She pulled the roll apart, smelling the bread and baked fruit, savoring each moment. She placed the bite into her mouth, it seemed to melt and then explode with flavor. It was delicious, better than she had even imagined. Perhaps in part because she knew it was the last thing she was likely to enjoy. She took another bite, and then another, and then all too soon it was gone. 

She looked at the small bottle on the table, at the assassin sitting across from her. Death was so certain, so close but even yet, it was hard for her to admit defeat, to come to that realization, that decision, to give up. Was it courage or its lack that made her hold on to the smallest or even nonexistent hope? She could have sworn loyalty to him at the Landsmeet. She could have played the safe bet and perhaps lived, but she had gambled and lost. She was not used to losing and didn't like it at all. 

No, she decided, she would not make this easy for him, for the king, this was her throne and she could fight for it. She stood up and picked up the small bottle and threw it against the wall. The bottle broke open. Dark liquid spilled onto the floor. 

“I see.” the elf said unconcerned. 

“I shall not simply concede defeat!” She said. “We will see if he has the courage to execute me! The banns will not stand for it! I... I...” She was lightheaded, dizzy. She just needed to catch her breath. She stumbled back into the wall and as the strength ran out of her, she slipped down onto the floor. 

Zevran watched with professional disinterest as Anora lost consciousness, her breathing slowed, and finally stopped. He walked over to the remains of the bottle and wondered how the dwarves can stand to drink that stuff. He opened the window to allow the night air to get rid of the smell. All must seem right for the guards to discover in the morning. No hint of anything amiss. That was best, that was professionalism. No one can talk since no one knows anything. A nice clean kill, the best kind. 

Guard Report: Prisoner 26672 human female was found dead on the floor of by the guards. No signs of foul play. Death ruled by natural causes. Her body burned. No mourners.


End file.
